That arch tone, piercing dark eyes that tracked him unblinking and missed nothing--the same. Breath and words made patterns on his skin, drew in hot between the lines. Drew a flush of green to the surface; telling, telling even when he stood absolutely still.

"No." His voice was remarkably steady. Nothing like his pulse. He leaned; their foreheads were nearly touching. "Other constants are in flux that--"

He really did talk too much. And if he'd heard it once, he'd heard it far too often: geometry functioned best as an applied science.

He brushed a drift of hair from beside Nero's face, instead, fingers tracing the shell of an ear behind it, tucking silk to rest.